


We never wanted it to be this way

by bennybentacles



Series: bad things happen bingo [16]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Mentioned Ben Hargreeves, hes just not doing do well, i really went on in this one, not s2 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennybentacles/pseuds/bennybentacles
Summary: he struggles to stay afloat most days, but he tries and tries and somehow he manages to get byor,klaus and his daily battle with his mind//prompt filled: wiping the other's tears away
Series: bad things happen bingo [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913851
Kudos: 22
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	We never wanted it to be this way

**Author's Note:**

> this may be triggering bc i really went into some heavy detail bout depression so yeah, be safe and pls read the tags first

sometimes he feels likes he's floating. his mind wanders off whole he stared at absolutely nothing. on those days he can do nothing but to breath, in and out, as slow as he could to attempt to avoid having a panic attack. he knows he would still have panic attacks later on no matter how hard he tries. but he still continue to try because honestly this is tiring for him.

there are days where he does not feel like standing up, his body refusing to get off his bed. he wants, he wishes, he hopes he could just stay on his own bed and close his eyes and never stand up again. he does not like these days, where time just slips past his finger, leaving him feeling confused and robbed. these days are the hardest, because he could not think, his mind is blissfully blank yet so ful off thoughts. _what thoughts?_ all of thoughts that does not make sense at all, too blurred, to fast, not even making any sense at all.

there are days where he feels angry, amd for no particular reason at all. is he angry because he did not do something right? is he angry because the sun didn't shine on his favorite spot? _is he angry for no apparent reason?_ most of the time he does not even know. the only thing he knows that he's mad, his blood boiling over, spilling over the metaphorical lid in his mind and burning him. these days he tend to avoid everyone because he knows he would spill some and would burn everybody else, so he just avoid them let himself cool down before he tries again, and if he still spilled some, at least it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

sometimes he feels nothing, absolutely nothing. he wishes these days didn't come as often as it did, because it terrifies him. these days are horrible, with him choking on the tears in the back of his eyes that refuses to even wet his eyes because he feels nothing. no tears to spill for. he smiles and he laughs and it feels too fake, too forced ,too plastic, and he can only attempt to tell a joke to mask it but it came too flat and as much as he want to feel embarrassed about it,he couldn't because he feels nothing at all.

there are days were he feels too full, so full, so tight and he wants to combust and just run away as far as he could just to escape that feeling. he chokes on the stuffy air and clench his fist tighter as he struggles to breath past his choked out lings. he writhes around to try and loosen himself out but it does nothing hut make him feel as if he is squeezed into an over crowded can of sardines, all of them swimming in the stale air that they have to share, all of them just touching each other and it's too tight, _too tight_ , too tight.

there are days were he feels terrible, his stomach twisting and turning itself inside out while he lays on his carpeted floors, his sweaty face sticking into his dirty floors. his eyes go unfocused because of the pain that he fees and he just wants it to stop, want it to end and it does not. he wants to just take out his own guts and squeeze it out himself yet he can do nothing but to spend another day laying in his floor as he rode his pains away once more. 

there are days where he feels brittle, as if he is a second away from breaking into tiny pieces and scattering down the floors. these days he feels as if the only thing keeping him together are his clothes so he makes sure to wear them tight, stretched across his gaunt body, all of it showing how skinny he truly is. he shakes at the tiniest of wind and he carefully avoids his siblings for totally different reason these days, because he knows it would only take one wrong remark from other to make him break down. 

there are days where he had to take a bath for too long because he feels dirty. his mind screams wrong. wrong,wrong inside his head on these days and he could only set in the hot waters to hopefully wash of all the dirt in his body, all of it clinging at him even after all those years. he trembles as he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until his skin felt raw and looked red. these days he had to stop himself after a while because he fears that if he doesn't, he would peel his own skin off and that would be a problem.

there are days where he could not stomach looking at the mirror. on these days he goes as far as covering every single reflective surface in their house because the thought of seeing himself is making him want to break everything and he can't, he can't so that so he covers everything up. he avoids looking at the bottom of his glass and stop looking at the shiny floor. these days his hands shake so badly from the stress he is under, his eyes shiny as he walked and walked and walked around their house to make sure he would not see himself because he knows he won't be able to handle it if he would

there are days where he feels anxious. his heart would beat so fast it would feel as if there are horses having a race inside his chest and he would have difficult time breathing. these days he is feels like a hummingbird, feels like if he would stop he would die so he moves and moves and moves, his body never staying still for more than a minute. this days he fills his pocket from stolen thing outside their home despite the fact that he does not need to steal anymore. he fills his picket with watches and wallets and earrings and necklaces and sometimes even sunglasses and at the end of the day he lays them in his unmade bed and his jittery hands would take them all apart and put them back together until his heart could beat a little slower

there are days where he feels sad. these days everything feels bad and he feels as if there is a dark cloud looking over his head. these days happen way too often, sometimes even for weeks where hw could do nothing but to curl over himself amd hope he does not die of sadness like a sad victorian maiden. his whole body would shake from strain as he pulls himself taunt so that he would not cry and break down and drown in his own misery because he knows nobody would catch him if he freefall and he fell way too many times now, landed on the cold hard ground and broke himself way too many times and it is awful so he tries not to break again

there are days where looking at his dead brother felt too painful. these days he would feel tears pooling on his eyes and he would choke out sobs as he bends over and wail. these days Ben would look at him with the most heartbreaking expression that always manage to cut him deeper each time and he would cry harder, his shaking hands reaching forward to touch his brother but stopping halfway because he does not want to feel Ben all cold and thin and dead. these days Ben would look at him in understanding and sit by his side until he slowly stops crying and then Ben would wipe his tears away with his dead hands and he could do nothing but hug his brother because at least he gets to have this, at least he gets to give his brother the life that got snatched away from him too early.

but sometimes he feels fine, not exactly happy but he feels light. these days does not come often, only on days where he could make ben corporeal for days with no problem or when his siblings and him go to dinner together. he treasures these days because he rarely feel this carefree and joyful, with him not even having to fake his smiles and laughs because it all just go past his lips. he feels different on these days, as if he is borrowing a day in somebody else's life because he is many things, but fine is not one of them. on these days he feels as if he's running on limited time, as if a clock would ring and his own demented version of a fairy godmother would rip everything off his hands so he keeps everything close to him. he looks at his siblings and tried to remember what they look like when he doesn't feel like there is an anvil tied to his feet that drags him to the deep end and he tried to etch into his memories how his siblings laughed so that when he feels worse he could look back and have something untainted.

he knows he is not fine, from the way that his days are unpredictable and the way his hands trembles and his eyes bounce from ghost to ghost to ghost. he knows he might never be fine, knows that he may have to live his whole life with his days more dark than light and that he'll have to struggle to keep his head above water but he tries. he tries to stay afloat and to help himself feel better and he knows that the fact that he didn't give up on himself this time is good and as long as he still try everything would be fine and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> i was in a really bad headspace when i wrote this and i think it shows so im sorry for that. 
> 
> title from Give 'Em Hell, Kid by My Chemical Romance 
> 
> im also @bennybentacles on tumblr


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